I have to count on everything that's inside -
lungs and sighs and brain and disappointment
functional intestines broadly speaking
kidneys and liver waiting for brief love
too much drink too quickly drunk
minimum consumption for maximum comfort.
And all of them watched by the irascible
(but patient) heart
king of the breath of life
and of the wild winds of love
believing it is in charge
while it suffers, surrounded -
whether pounding for all loves
or importing all the troubles
of the body’s other pledges.
Till one afternoon, a morning, a night
by impulse and by revenge
(that which is served cold)
it cools off and it stops beating
no time for others to rally round:
they who soon will
cry for their own sorrows
each one by itself
disowned and by and by
gone without fear or fright.
What's taken for unexpected and unforeseen
may perhaps be the way for a whole
to be un-centred
to escape the insane task
that we ourselves demand
from our small share, already stained by blood, blood
along the coherence of straight and curved lines.
Blood by a thread.